It's early(ish). I'm stirring my coffee, barely human, much less cognizant. Top Management comes out, looking like she's seen a ghost.
"I'm a friend who doesn't dance," she whispers.
"Wha," I say.
"I'm a friend who doesn't dance," she repeats. "I just realized."
Something about the phrase tickles some part of my brain that's not currently scheduled to be awake for another hour but it's still refusing to kick into gear.
She sees this and explains. "We can leave your friends behind? Because your friends don't dance, and if they don't dance, then they're no friends of mine."
She pauses and the tension mounts as the horrific understanding seeps in. "I'm no friend of theirs," she admits, heartbroken.
Recent Comments